And Time Will Have Its Fancy
by Hekate1308
Summary: She is perfectly content with the way her life turned out, really, she is. And then she realizes something. Sherlock/Sally, part of my ongoing universe.


**Author's note: Here is the continuation of my last Sherlock/Sally fic. As strange as it sounds, I tried to keep them in character.**

**I don't own anything, please review.**

Ever since she became Sherlock Holmes' girlfriend, her life turned into a whirlwind of excitement and late nights and body parts in the fridge and calls from his best friend and dates that involve arresting serial killers and dinners with the British Government and fights that end with them not talking to another for hours until one of them gives in, and she's perfectly happy with that.

She really, truly is.

Yes, there are a few dreams that will never be fulfilled – she wanted children once, she hoped to get married at one point – but the sacrifices are small compared to what she has gained.

Even if she felt a totally unwarranted pang of jealousy at John and Mary's wedding. It simply was not to be and she accepts that. She even felt guilty for being jealous afterwards.

Sherlock is simply not cut out to be a husband or a father. True, they have never talked about it, but it's clear that his work means everything to him, he wouldn't want to change his life, their lives.

And really, living with him is more than she could ever hope for.

She isn't living with him officially, she still has her flat, she still pays rent, but she can't even remember when she last slept there. It must have been before John's wedding. And all of her clothes and books and everything she holds dear have found their way into 221B long ago. Sherlock certainly hasn't commented on it, seems to like her being there, and John (who for being married is about as much in the flat as he ever was, sometimes with, sometimes without Mary) is apparently relieved that someone keeps an eye on Sherlock during the rare times he isn't.

So they are living together, for all intents and purposes, and she feels more at home at 221B than she ever has anywhere else, and for the last two years, he's accompanied her to her family and her sister's children call him "Uncle Sherlock" and he hasn't tried to show him some of his more gruesome experiments, so she's happy and perfectly content and –

Mary told her she's pregnant a week ago but asked her to keep it silent because she and John (who was telling Sherlock at the exact same moment and, to his credit, the consulting detective is happy for his friend) wanted to spread the news themselves, and she congratulated her and smiled and –

Still her heart clenched a bit at the thought that she'd never have that.

In the end, she decided she was simply being ungrateful. She never imagined she would have such a relationship, she never imagined she would have this – this strange, but still wonderful family, for lack of a better word, and to ask for more would be a bit not good.

And then –

Three days ago she realized that her period should have come a week ago.

Most people would think this is no reason to worry, but for the last few years, she's always had her days in the last week of the month -

And it's the first week of the next month. And there's still nothing.

She tells herself, like she has been doing for three days, that it's nothing. She's a little over forty; it's to be expected that her cycle slows down a bit. And, really, is it so bad not to have to live with back pain and mood changes for a few more days?

It isn't, but there is this other possibility, the one she is definitely not thinking about.

True, she isn't taking the pill anymore, hasn't since she was thirty-three because she didn't want to take hormones for decades (and, at the time, it didn't seem like she would need any contraceptive anyway, and then, when she and Sherlock started their relationship, she simply didn't think about it again), but they have always used a condom, and they would have noticed if it had broken.

But no method is one hundred percent safe – and –

No. Definitely not. She'll give it another week. No need to panic now. The cycle of many women is all over the place; and she has experienced a few shifts over the years.

The week comes and goes. Nothing. Sherlock hasn't noticed because he's been working on a serial killer case for three weeks now (along with John, Greg and her, of course) and has barely allowed himself to eat or sleep, although he hasn't denied himself other more pleasurable activities.

It's only been a little over two weeks, it doesn't have to mean – that. There are several reasons...

And yet, this one won't leave her alone.

She could be pregnant.

She might be carrying her and Sherlock's child.

And if she –

What will she do?

She tells herself to stay calm. She doesn't know yet if she's pregnant. She will get a –

Or rather, she will not get a pregnancy test, because Mycroft would know about it within minutes, and she wants to be certain before telling everyone, even her boyfriend, who is currently working on an experiment in the kitchen that he thinks will help solving the case and occasionally muttering to himself words that sound like the names of several acids. She should know what he's working on – normally, she does, he tells her because he wants her to know – but she couldn't concentrate when he explained.

She's sitting on the couch – Greg sent her home when Sherlock went off to do his experiment, claiming they all needed some rest – and wondering what to do.

She can't just by a pregnancy test, or ask someone else to do it, because her boyfriend's brother is the British Government and would probably have whoever bought the test kidnapped as soon as they left the store.

Of course. Molly.

Molly is still at Bart's – she had to do an autopsy on a car crash victim, if she remembers correctly – and it won't take her long to make a blood test.

Luckily, it isn't strange for her to visit Molly, especially not when Sherlock's lost in his head, so she simply calls out she's leaving and makes her way to Bart's, trying to convince herself she isn't pregnant all the while.

Not only because she doesn't want to worry without reason, but because –

To be honest, she doesn't want to be disappointed.

It's strange, to fear to be disappointed if they mere thought of pregnancy suffices to make her panic, but that's how it is.

She pushes the thought away and enters the hospital.

Molly is in the lab and happily greets her. Sally asks about her and Greg's two-year-old daughter first, even though she knows everything – she's working with her enthusiastic father – and she happily starts to describe her drawings, when she suddenly stops talking, looks at her and asks, "Is everything alright?"

It's a difficult question. She's starting to suspect it won't be, even if she isn't pregnant, so she takes a deep breath and answers, "Molly – I'm late. I need a test".

It takes the pathologist a few seconds to understand what she's said, but then she beams at her. "You think – Oh, Sally, that's – " She interrupts herself when she sees Sally's face, wonders for a moment if she should ask, then continues, "I'll just draw some of your blood and make the test".

Bless Molly. She knows when people don't want to talk.

She realizes he is hungry – it's no surprise, really. With the case and her – and the other thing, she hasn't eaten properly in a few days, and she tells Molly she'll just grab a quick snack in the cafeteria. Her friend promises to have the result when she's back, and she leaves only to bump into John, probably coming to tell Molly about Mary's pregnancy.

She doesn't think she could lie to John, but she doesn't want him to know either, so she just smiles and all but rushes past him.

She eats the sandwich while making small talk with Mike Stamford and returns fifteen minutes later. She stops at the door of the lab for a moment and takes a deep breath before entering.

Thankfully John has already left, and she suspects Molly sent him away on purpose.

She looks at the pathologist, who, with a carefully neutral expression (not devoid of sympathy, however), obviously waiting for her reaction, nods.

It's positive.

She has to sit down. The room blurs before her yes, and for a moment she thinks she might faint, until she realizes that a few tears have escaped her eyes. She wipes them away, not sure why she's crying.

"Sally?" Molly puts a hand on her arm. "That's – it's good news, isn't it?"

When Sally can't bring herself to answer, she bites her lips and continues, "Were you trying – "

Sally snorts because the thought of Sherlock asking her to have a child with him is just ridiculous. She shakes her head.

Molly nods. "I see".

The silence stretches on for a few minutes, Molly offering silent comfort before asking, "Do you want to keep it?"

Sally looks at her, and the pathologist shakes her head. "I'm sorry. I – You don't have to answer".

The only reason Sally hasn't answered yet is because it's so easy it scares her.

Yes.

She wants this child. She wants this child with Sherlock.

But he doesn't want children, she is reasonably sure of that, although her mind is quick to tell her that they never really discussed it.

Yet she might have to choose between her partner and their child, and she honestly doesn't know what she'd do. Or if she won't regret her decision later, whatever it will be.

Molly squeezes her hand and she shakes her head. She should stop getting lost in her mind. Sherlock does it enough for the both of them.

"Talk to him" Molly says, a soft, encouraging smile on her lips, "He might surprise you. He's great with Georgina".

That's true; he, as he told Sally one day, "quite likes" Molly's and Greg's daughter, which in Sherlock means nothing less than "adores". There is a difference, though, in looking after and playing with a child for a few hours or its whole life.

Molly is right, of course. She has to tell Sherlock that he is about to become a father.

Sherlock a father. Her a mother. It seems so unreal.

Yet this is what is happening, what they have to deal with, so she nods and gives Molly a weak smile. The pathologist pats her hand.

"It's all going to be fine, you'll see".

She doubts it, but nods anyway and stands up.

"Molly..."

"Don't worry, my lips are sealed. I won't rob you of the pleasure of giving Sherlock the shock of his life".

Sally chuckles a bit, because Molly is right, hugs her and leaves St. Bart's.

She gets a text on the way back to Baker Street; Sherlock informs that the experiment did indeed solve the case and that he, John and Greg were at Scotland Yard with the suspect.

Sally decides that they can do without her and tells him not to wait. Mrs. Hudson looks at her, concerned, when she comes back alone, but she assures her with a smile that everything is okay, even though it isn't, and enters the flat.

She sits down on the sofa and wonders how she will tell Sherlock. In the end, she chooses to tell him in the most matter-of-fact way possible; it's Sherlock Holmes after all, he lives for facts. She makes tea and waits for the return of her partner.

Sherlock and John come back not two hours later, which is quick; normally they are at the Yard for hours after the case is solved –

He must have noticed she's been behaving strangely.

Her suspicion turns out to be correct when he opens the door and immediately deduces (or tries to deduce; she doesn't believe the possibility of her being pregnant has crossed his mind) her.

He hangs up his coat and scarf, walks over to the sofa and sits down beside her before, finally, asking, "Sally – What's going on?"

It's typical Sherlock, really. No "Are you alright?" or "Is everything okay?", no, he had to ask, "What's going on?"

But she doesn't want to hide behind excuses, so she simply answers, "I'm pregnant".

The silence that follows is deafening.

Even Sherlock Holmes needs a few moments to absorb the information that his girlfriend is pregnant, apparently, so she says nothing and waits.

Until he asks "Are you sure?" and she almost laughs. He shakes his head. "How stupid of me – of course you are. You wouldn't tell me you were otherwise..." He trails off and looks at her.

And it seems like she's suddenly lost her ability to read him.

He adds, slowly, "I will need time to – process this information".

Of course he will, she thinks bitterly. Sherlock Holmes has never been an emotional man; she couldn't expect him to be excited or angry, but for some reason, she did. She needed a definite reaction, and he won't even give her that.

She stands up.

"I'll come back then" she announces bitterly and leaves. He makes no move to stop her.

She doesn't go far. She simply goes next door to John and Mary.

John immediately springs up from his chair and rushes to her; she must look worse than she thought.

"Sally?" he asks.

She barely holds back a laugh because she and Sherlock should be celebrating, but aren't and probably never will be, because this is their life and their life is complicated and weird and children were never a part of it.

Again, she simply replies weakly, "I'm pregnant".

John guides her to the sofa and Mary brings her a glass of water, not sure whether to be glad or sorry for her, which is fine because she doesn't know herself. John, careful as always, inquires, "Sherlock?"

She answers, "He needed time to think".

John nods once, twice and storms out, Mary sitting down next to her.

"He's going to talk to him" she says, trying to be comforting, and Sally shakes her head because she doesn't want Sherlock to accept her news because it's a duty, but because he wants to.

Mary understands – naturally, she's married John Watson, and you can't do that without an intimate knowledge of Sherlock Holmes – and squeezes her hand again. "John knows him. Don't worry".

Sally says nothing.

It seems like she's spent most of the day in silence when she should have been smiling or crying or something else, she isn't sure.

John comes back not five minutes later, flushed, and just from his face she knows what he's going to say.

"He's not there" he tells her, apologetically, and she nods and leaves, despite Mary trying to get her to stay.

For the first time in months she sleeps in her flat.

Or tries to sleep. It's not like she can.

At 3am, Sherlock uses his key. She's sitting on the sofa, drinking her eleventh cup of tea of the day and wonders why every argument – or not argument, or nearly argument, or whatever they had – always ends with him running after her or coming to her flat.

Sherlock looks at her. Looks away. Clears his throat. Looks back at her.

She decides she's had enough silence, so she asks, "And, have you had time to process it yet?"

Sherlock nods curtly.

There's a bitter taste in her mouth, but she asks anyway. "And?"

He clears his throat again and advances towards her. He stops, however, when he looks at her face and tells her, "It was – a surprise".

"Not just for you" she replies sarcastically, and he nods.

What he says next is entirely unexpected.

"I would lie if I'd say I hadn't thought about it."

"What – " she starts to asks and her eyes widen. "Do you mean you want the child? With me?"

"It's the next logical step" he informs her, but before she can start to scream or hit him, he adds, "Yes. I – I never thought I would, but – I can handle Georgina, and I will be John's child's godfather. And – a child with you – I – like I said, I thought about it before".

She can't help but find his stammering adorable. In the next moment, she reminds herself that she's supposed to be sceptical and just a little angry with him. Then he continues.

"I – A child with you would make me happy."

He just said something she thought he'd never say, and she needs a moment to "process" all of it, so she only realizes he's apologizing for his first reaction when he's already halfway through and waves her hand impatiently to make him stop.

He does. As if today hasn't held enough surprises already.

She inquires, because she can't help it, because she needs to hear it again, needs to hear that he wants the child and her and everything, "So you want a family with me?"

"Yes."

It's just a word, but it's said with conviction, and suddenly she's crying and he's holding her. He doesn't really know what to do, of course, because comforting someone has never been his strong suit, but it's enough.

When she's stopped, he asks, almost timidly, "Should we return home?"

She agrees happily because it means he now considers 221B her home too.

Mycroft texts her in the cab. Naturally.

_Congratulations. I trust I'll be informed of all developments.  
Mycroft_

She shows it to Sherlock and they both roll their eyes. As if Mycroft won't know everything the moment they do. But at least he asked for permission this time.

When they arrive at Baker Street, Sherlock makes her the twelfth cup of tea and sits down beside her, biting his lip. She doesn't know what he's going to say until he starts, "Sally..."

"Yes?" she prompts.

"I think it would be infinitely more practical if you gave up your flat and moved into 221B. And we should consider to get married."

"Because it's practical?" She can't help the hurt tone in her voice; she wants him to asks because he wants her to live with him, not because –

"No" he says firmly, looking into her eyes. "Because I love you".

They don't say it often. Which is why she can remember every single time Sherlock told her he loved her. And she knows she will always remember this one, because once again, Sherlock Holmes has just changes her whole life.

"Yes" she replies, for there's no other answer to give, "yes."

Sherlock smiles at her and kisses her and –

The tea grows cold.

Later, much later, when they are both almost asleep, he asks, "Sally?"

"Yes?" she mumbles, barely conscious.

"If it's a boy, can we call it Hamish?"

He sounds like a child, and she's wild awake again, because she's well aware where this comes from, of course she is.

So she gently answers, "Of course. It would fit to name him after his God Father, wouldn't it?"

He draws her close and she realizes that everything's going to be okay. There will be congratulations and the occasional sneer, Mycroft and Mrs. Hudson will be overbearing, John and Mary and Greg and Molly will look after them, there will be a wedding to plan and a child, her and Sherlock's child, to raise.

She couldn't imagine anything stranger –

Or more perfect.

She smiles and drifts of to sleep, content next to her fiancé.

**Author's note: Sally Donavan and Sherlock Holmes are going to have a child – I'm going to sit in a corner and think about what I'm doing with my life now.**

**I hope you liked it, please review.**


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